


Dirty Laundry

by rom



Category: Show By Rock!! (Anime)
Genre: Hate Sex, Laundry Sniffing, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 11:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4135689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rom/pseuds/rom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rom and Shuu didn't part on the best of terms. A lot was left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Shuuzo rolled up the limo's tinted window. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, and closed his eyes behind his sunglasses. His smile faded.

“Sh... Shuuzo...” Kai looked to his brother for help. _That man he was just speaking to... wasn't he..._  
“Is everything... ok?” Riku chimed in, also recognizing his leader's old bandmate. They gazed at Shuuzo's silent, unmoving form, the city lights flashing in his sunglasses as they traveled.

###### 

Shuu walked into his apartment, heels clicking. He took off his shoes at the door and stepped into the den. The pillows on the white suede couch had been fluffed, and the floor had tracks from a vacuum cleaner. While he was away, someone cleaned up. He had no idea who. The label took care of that, most likely. They had decorated the place for him too. He didn't even receive bills anymore. There was someone to handle that. Come to think of it, he didn't even know how much money he had. 

Money didn't really matter anymore. Funny how things like that change. 

He got undressed.

He went into his closet, full of elaborate costumes and brightly colored professional clothes. He walked all the way to the back, and unearthed a small hamper from behind the racks. From it, he chose an old ratty tank and some flannel pants that were for someone slightly taller than him. He shook the hairspray out of his hair, and washed off the glitter on his skin. His ears twitched as he splashed cold water on his face. He stared blankly into his own reflection for a moment before he could take it no longer. He wandered back onto his freshly cleaned couch and lay down. He felt the blood rush all the way to the top of his ears. Now he was alone with his little secret. Shuu lifted the shirt up to his face and breathed deep. His heart was racing. He lightly fingered the rip where the seam once met the pocket in the old flannel pants. The fiber was soft and frayed from the number of times Shuu had felt that rip. He closed his eyes and breathed in. 

_If he were here,_ Shuu thought, _he'd sit here with me. He'd sit here with me and we'd watch stupid tv, drink cheap beer and make fun of this ridiculous white couch._ He smiled, and felt an ache burn through his gut. 

People did everything for him, but only one household chore was his, and his alone: laundry. Last time anyone “helped” with that, they washed a precious item and ruined it. Shuu texted his manager plainly:

> Never wash the clothes in my closet again☆ 

And they never did. Those clothes from the black mesh hamper weren't Shuu's to wash, after all. Rom simply never came back for them.

To be honest, when the loneliness settled back in, inevitable as the tides, Shuu was glad Rom never came back to him. When Shuu was weak, alone, and out of love with the world, Shuu had an old hamper full of a man he still couldn't throw away. His clothes still smelled like smoke, like their concerts. Like the first dives that granted them the pity of a gig. They smelled a little like stale beer, a little like Rom's body wash. They smelled like a time Shuu ached to relive. 

Those times weren't happy, exactly. They were hard. They didn't really have much. When there were no gigs to be had and they had all run dry of inspiration, Rom and Shuu fought. About little things. Minor disagreements. But Shuu remembered those times particularly fondly. He loved fighting with Rom. And Rom loved fighting with him.

They would begin with an argument. Arguing, then shouting. Shuu loved seeing Rom get worked up with anger and lust, loved when Rom insulted him, loved pulling his hair and ripping each other's clothes off. They would fuck, angry and blistering hot. They would bite and pull hair and scratch and curse. Sometimes in these moments they felt a hate searing through them like none they'd ever known. But then... they'd melt. After it all came crashing down, they'd melt into each other's arms, bruised and bloodied, exhausted and completely insane. They could lay there in that molten golden afterglow for hours. Talking, kissing, licking each other's wounds. 

They only fought because they were passionate. Sometimes they wondered if this ritual was strange, but so long as they were both happy they saw no reason to address it. This, they decided, was just their way of baring their souls. It felt as natural to them as making music. The songs they wrote together were like sex, indecent and voyeuristic. Playing a show was their burlesque. It made Shuu feel... animalistic. He bit his lip. Remembering those times turned the ache in his gut into a soft warmth. 

Shuu felt hot with shame. He was worked up after seeing Rom upset over the loss of that bandmate... Aion, wasn't it? Sensing weakness, he had hungrily sank his teeth into him. It may have been cold, but Shuu couldn't help but speak of their past in a moment like this. He had to remind him of what he had let go. Rom's eyes glinted with a familiar hate. It was thrilling to see that kind of passion again. That was why hurting him came so easily... it was just like old times.

It was too much. He had never done this in Rom's old clothes before, but that scent was overwhelming his sense of right and wrong.

He slid his hand down his pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fic in a very long time lmao, I'm nervous!! Let me know if ya like it ☆


	2. Chapter 2

He wanted his clothes back.

It's not that they were important, really. It's just that... the longer it took for Rom to get them back, the longer he itched. It had been a year or so, but he still thought about the clothes he left with Shuu daily. A couple of his favorite shirts were in there, probably stiff from sweat and stripped off during performances, dumped on Shuu's gross patched-up secondhand couch after a show. Those old flannel pajama pants too... He had left some shoes, some fan items given to him, his favorite pint glasses used when they'd come home and drink beers together. He left a lot of himself behind.

He couldn't even recall everything, since Rom stayed over almost every night. He never had to worry about taking his junk with him before. His life with Shuu was consistent. Then, after what had happened, he never really wanted to contact Shuu again. He left his shit, cut his losses. He could buy new jeans. 

That was when both he and Shuu were poor. Shuu had lived in a small apartment, with dirty running water. It was “intimate,” he used to call it. Nothing all that bad, just that he was probably living a little more luxuriously now, you know? _He probably threw that couch out. He... probably threw those clothes out,_ Rom concluded, taking a final drag off the cigarette before flicking it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *updates immediately* sup


	3. Chapter 3

###### One Year Ago

“I'm not changing my mind. I'm quitting the band.”

Rom threw his fist against the wall. 

“Stop saying that!” He grunted.

“Not saying it isn't going to change anything.” Shuu stared Rom down. His eyes were fierce with resolve. Rom scoffed, suddenly ashamed. He squatted on the stoop and stomped out his cigarette. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. He was absolutely blindsided. Angry... didn't begin to cover it.

Rom was brokenhearted.

“Look at me, Rom.” Rom snorted and shook his head. He felt disgusted by the thought. He couldn't bear to see him, much less talk to him.

“Look at me!” Rom lifted his gaze from the concrete alley to meet Shuu's eyes. 

“What the fuck do you want.” It wasn't a question. Shuu breathed shakily. ...Hurting him like this wasn't fun at all.

“I don't want to lose you.” 

“What the fuck?! Don't want to lose _me_? You drop us...” Rom choked, “the... the band. You drop... the band... like a sack of _shit_ and you expect us to still be cool?” He hissed. He couldn't think about the two of them right now. “All we accomplished and created together wasn't enough for you. You still need more.”

Shuu lowered himself to his knees, meeting Rom face to face. He leaned in close, and wrapped his hands around Rom's face. The city lights flashed, noises and smells surrounded them everywhere. The commotion and crowd let them know they were alone.

“I know you're mad. Look, you can even hit me if you like. You know I can take a punch.” He said it with a smirk in his voice. Not that even that could make this pain feel good.

Bitter tears fell hot down Rom's face, onto Shuu's hands. Their eyes met, sending a spark down Shuu's spine.

“I don't want to hit you.” Rom grimaced. He shook his head and turned away. He felt like he was going to throw up.

“That's not like you,” Shuu stood, wiping the tears onto his coat.

“ _This_ isn't like _you_! I cant believe after all the shit we've been through...!” He clenched his jaw, teeth grinding painfully. Honestly, he knew that what he said was wrong. It was _very_ like Shuu.

“We're different people." Shuu turned away, unable to meet Rom's discerning gaze, "All of us, you know? This band has been a group of misfits from the start... we found shelter in each other for a while, but I know of a life that I can truly call my home. This band isn't taking me there.”

For a long time, Rom and Shuu knew what they wanted. They wanted to heat the stage, to light the audience aflame with their passion. They screamed, sweat and bled for that audience. But Shuu had always aimed just a little higher. Shuu lived to be on top of the music world. The whole band had known from day one. But soon, the band stagnated musically. They had fans, and did alright for themselves. But they would never break the Top 10, not even the Top 100 song rankings at this rate. Shuu figured, that's just how rock is. You ignite hot, fast, and hard, then you burn out. He needed something more, while his name was still fresh.

“Great. Then go. Good fucking luck, asshole. I'll call you and let you know how the view from the top looks.” Rom spat.

“I'm not leaving you yet.”

“What are you waiting for, you want me to fight you this fucking bad?” He looked up to meet Shuu's gaze. Was that sadness or... pity? Rage boiled up in Rom's throat, beating its way out. “You're... not worth it.” He mumbled. He regretted that immediately. The whiskey had overcome his ability to hold his tongue.

That stung. Shuu's mouth tightened.

“I... understand. I just wanted to let you know... I still need you.”

“What?”

“I want to touch you one last time.” That mix of rage and vomit rose back up into Rom's throat, it was all he could do to swallow it all back down. _Is this a fucking joke?_

“No. I can't do that.” He shook his head, smiling in spite. “No.”

“Alright. Well, you know where I am.” He turned to leave. “See you later, Rom.”

Rom felt drained. He wanted to hit Shuu, wanted to kiss him. The truth of it was though, he couldn't muster the energy or will to do anything. Before it would have come so easily. But now... he had no idea what he was going to do. Unsigned, alone, a little drunk. He wasn't as close to the other band members as he was to Shuu. They were united by his charisma, his drive to take them to a world of music yet unseen. He didn't know what they could do without him. He stood slowly, and turned back into the bar. He would figure something out.

Later that night he had received a single text from Shuu:

“That offer of mine is good whenever, by the way. Now, or in 15 years.  
I won't contact you from here on out. Love you☆”

Rom let himself cry. He had a lot to drink that night. Even after finishing off the handle of cheap whiskey, he wasn't ready to go home. The bar, however, had had quite enough of him.

He stumbled out onto the street, back towards his own ratshit apartment. He cursed his life as he walked. Sounds of small bar concerts and happy fans screaming flooded the street. Rom felt nauseated. He'd never have that again, would he? No more lights, no more music. No more low-budget posters with his bands name in small print towards the bottom. It wasn't stardom, but something like it. He was important to a few people, and hell, that was more than he had ever had before. But now that was gone too. 

He wasn't ready to let go. 

He sniffed, and ground his teeth again. He pulled out another cigarette. That was the 3rd tonight. Shuu had wanted him to quit. 

Fuck Shuu. 

He lit it and took a deep breath. He held his shoulders a little higher, and breathed out. Yeah. Fuck Shuu.

###### 

Shuu stared at his phone.

No new messages.

Fuck.

He didn't know what he expected. Rom would never respond. Even if he wanted to, he'd be too proud. Shuu grimaced at himself. Maybe he really did want Rom to lash out. He wanted Rom to fight for him. But he deserved this. 

He flipped his phone shut and stared at the light fixture. It flickered lightly.

This... Rom... was just the cost of his dream. That dream would get him out of this place. It would bring more happiness than could be measured to millions of people. It would prove his worth, and prove that no matter the genre, he could write something that speaks to the soul. His entire image was about to change. But he was ready for this.

He had found a young pair of siblings playing light jazz for money on the streets a few weeks ago. Just a bass and percussion, and the sound of their voices. They were dressed sharp, clearly doing alright for themselves. He liked their style, and wanted to see what else they could do.

Shuu saw a new self on that stage, a new him, with a new look, a new sound, a new song. He would change it all. And black hair wouldn't really fit the new look he had in mind. He pulled a box of bleach from the cabinet he had hidden it away in.


	4. Sambuca

Rom eyed each bar carefully as he passed them. He wanted to sit. He wanted to drink. None of these places really looked like the type of place he would feel good in. He wanted to blend into the wallpaper. He felt too embarrassed to return to their old stomping grounds. They'd ask where he's been for a week, where the guys were, where Shuu was... Shuu would probably still be there, just for the chance to see Rom. He needed somewhere new. He didn't want anything with that stale smell of his old life. Somewhere like... ah.

There was a gorgeous woman standing outside a plain door. She was tall, sharply dressed, and her hair was long and blonde. She had an eyepatch, the only thing marring her looks. The light above her was golden, and seemed like a halo. She looked up to the sounds of his clunking boots and smiled at him. Lonely as he was, she seemed like an Angel from heaven, glowing and warm. He looked up and read the bright yellow sign.

_Cafe Angelica._

He laughed at himself. _Angels, man._

“Howdy stranger.”

“Uhh. Hey.” he growled. His voice was raspy. He realized he hadn't spoken all day.

“Have you ever been here before? You don't seem familiar.”

“Nope.”

“Hmm. You play?” She gestured to the drum sticks in his jacket pocket. He had been carrying them around. He had forgotten. It had become so commonplace to always have them in his right pocket. Hard habit to shake, now that he had no band.

“Oh, uh. Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“What a coincidence. So do we.” We? Rom thought. “You should come on in, let me buy you a drink. Sorry about the state of things...” Her eyes shifted towards the door.

Rom laughed uneasily.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, nothing. I'll be in in a moment.” She smiled and returned to her cigarette.

Rom was... curious. He might as well go in. There was nothing to it, he could just leave if it didn't strike him. He opened the door. He was immediately met with screams.

“-lling you, as a mere mortal you simply cannot fathom the depth of Deyan's bass work.”  
“Not even!! There's no way they're better, have you even heard Demon's Venom's new stuff?! You'd be shocked! It's like... BANG, KAPOW!” A slight man interjected into the conversation.  
“You don't have any more useful words than onomatopoeia? Hence, you have a weak mind.” Before he could continue, he was interrupted.  
“It's as strong as my body!” The shortest one shouted.

Rom slipped through the door. Noisy. The lady outside was nice... so surely this place had merit. It had to. He didn't really have other options at the moment. Either way... free drink. He sat down at the bar. The place was practically abandoned. There were three dudes arguing over their beers about bands and techniques. In the corner, two fluffy-looking girls were excitedly comparing merch from recent festivals. He waited for the bartender, not realizing that everyone had suddenly gone silent, leaving only the faint sound of some old 80's alt rock band on the radio. It was like the drip of a faucet. Annoying and impossible to ignore. 

Rom felt an immediate pressure. Everyone's eyes were on him. Well, the three men had their eyes on his jacket. Without speaking, all three jumped to their feet and suddenly, he was surrounded.

“OI, OI..... Who's this guy?! Are you new? Here to see the Prez?”  
“Calloused hands, horrible nails, smells like whiskey. You really are a drummer.”  
“Let's not get excited... how do we even know if he can even keep up with us?”  
“He's got our style, how could he not!”

They began to squabble loudly. Yep, this was a mistake. His head throbbed as he looked to the girls in the corner for help. The pink one had occupied herself with a mobile game, and purple one looked sorry for him. Then do something...! He thought. Recognizing nobody was gonna save him, he stood, boots shaking the thin wooden floor... He was dizzy.

The front door slammed open. 

“What on earth is going on here?” Angelica stood in the doorway. “We can't leave you three alone for a minute. Down, you dogs.”

“Dogs?!” the short one shouted.

“What's so wrong with being a dog?” the slight one said, clearly hurt. The squabbling started up once more.

“Look,” Rom shouted, quieting the men immediately. “Clearly I'm in the wrong place. I'm just looking to sit. Quietly. And drink.” He coughed at the sudden silence. He looked at Angelica. “Please.” The silence fell over them again. The alt band faucet dripped.

The three men retrieved their drinks from their table and relocated to the opposite side of the bar. They were clearly looking to figure the new guy out. Angelica moved to the bar back, and began to clean a glass. They were dusty-looking, like they didn't get much use. She stood in front of him so as to block the view of the trio.

“You look like you're having troubles, hon.” She said to him, free to talk now that the parade of myumanity had rejoined its course.

“Maybe.” He groaned.

“Well, people usually don't choose us. Either way, we're glad you did. We don't get many new faces in here.”

“Why not?” Angelica looked to the other men at the bar wordlessly, and back to Rom. She raised her eyebrows meaningfully. “Gotcha,” he smiled.

“We're not just a bar, you know.”

“Let me guess... underground wrestling ring?” Angelica laughed.

“I wish. We would probably be doing better than this.”

“Yeah?”

“We're a label. Ever heard of Shingan Crimsonz?”

“Oh yeah, I think I saw them on the bottom of a flyer once,” He said, somewhat thoughtfuly. The three men clearly balked at the statement, indicative of their eavesdropping. Angelica shot them a look. They wisely chose to be silent. 

“We only have two bands. Shingan Crimsonz and Plasmagica. They're really great – incredible even, but we're still working out the kinks. See these guys- they're SC. They're in a bad way because their drummer just ditched town. Said he wanted to go back to his parents' business.” The three men looked... more slumped over than before. Angelica set the cleaned glass down, sighing. She took up another. “We already booked them for a couple of bar shows in the next week, and we won't even be able to make them. To be honest, that's part of why I invited you in. You looked down on your luck.” She gazed over at the pile of hunched black leather that was Shingan Crimsonz. “And we...” she paused, setting the second glass down for emphasis, “are down on _our_ luck. I figured if you could use some work...” She began to pour a shot from an unmarked clear bottle into the glasses. "...We have it." She finished.

Rom looked at the three men. Their fighting spirit seemed to have drained out of them. They looked genuinely rattled. He knew what it was like to be dropped like a hot rock. They seemed.... horrible, honestly. Like, not bad people, just obnoxious. He himself was feeling a little woozy and dejected. Maybe he just didn't know them well enough yet. Angelica dropped a couple of whole coffee beans into the shot and slid the clear liquid over to him. She did the same for her own.

“To hard times.” She smiled bitterly. She slung the shot back, biting the beans after. Rom did the same. Augh. It was harsh, and tasted like anise. But it sure did the trick.

"Yeah," Rom wheezed. "Hard times."


	5. Chapter 5

Rom stood at the train platform. He fiddled with his collar, fiddled with his cuffs.... this suit didn't really fit his lifestyle, but he used the last of his money on it so it had better do the damn trick. He hated job searching. He recalled days spent jumping from fast food to convenience stores seeking a low-commitment job with minimal hours. But this time was a little different.

_Can't rely on my music forever... can't live in a hovel anymore. I need to think forward._

He had known some salaried workers from his time in seedy pubs - men who had grown to see him as a part-time drunken confidante, a regular, comfortable piece of furniture in their favorite bar. One was a pretty high-level manager at a large company downtown. He was a lonely guy, recently divorced, but nice enough. Not really the type Rom cared to be friends with, but he didn't need to be. He had a drunkard's business card and he had combed his hair and found a suit that fit him all right if you squinted and that's more than he had managed before. He had called a few nights before, reminding the man of the hours they'd passed at the bartop together. The two chatted idly, and soon Rom slyly dropped the news of his recent breakup and inability to find a job, and the man (memory clearly addled by sake) responded enthusiastically, and demanded that Rom come speak with him. It was time for a shitty connections to pay off. 

The train shot swiftly into the station, pulling into a full stop right on time. A spritely little jingle played as the crowed pushed him forward onto the train. He allowed the wave to take him, intimidated by the amount of people who were actually awake this early. 

Rom hadn't remembered the last time he was up so early. 

###### 

“Babe?”  
"Rrgh..."  
"Babe."  
“Mm...”  
“You up or just groanin'?”  
“Up, unfortunately.” Rom adjusted the blanket to reveal his eyes.  
“Same... the thunder woke me.” Shuu stood, Rom's shirt covering his backside.  
“Yeah...” Rom sat up to look over to him. He opened the door to the veranda and wandered outside, leaning onto the railing.  
“Oh, grab my laundry.” Rom realized, suddenly.  
“Ah... gotcha.” Shuu disappeared onto the veranda, covered by the curtain.  
“What time is it?”  
“Probably 6:30? 7? Dunno.” Rom clicked his lighter, and breathed the fire into his cigarette. “In the bedroom...? You're gonna make the bed smell like cigarettes.” Shuu re-entered the room, black hair damp, hands full of laundry.  
“What would you prefer it smell like?”  
“Mm...” Shuu laid the laundry on the floor, soon to be forgotten as he returned to the bed.

###### 

The train pulled to a stop, jolting Rom awake. He had nodded off... Rom checked his watch. He had time before downtown but... couldn't fall asleep like that again or he'd miss his stop.


End file.
